A Fashionable Murder (17 page)

Carol applauded his suggestion. “Excellent idea!”

“When are we going to pick up dinner?” Josie asked.

“It will be delivered to the desk in the lobby and they’ll call us to come down and pick it up,” Carol explained. “It won’t take any time at all. The restaurant is just around the corner and everything is either stir-fried or steamed.”

“Good. I’m starving,” Josie added, feeling someone should say something.

Sam pushed the plate of olives and artichokes in her direction. “I left the cheese in the kitchen. I’ll get it and the wine.”

“Josie and I had an interesting day, you know,” Carol stated.

“Well, your hair did. I can see that. What did you do?” he asked Josie.

“I had a facial and a manicure—and a pedicure,” Josie explained, kicking off her shoes and wagging her fingers and toes at him.

“Oh, very nice, I guess.”

“You guess?” his mother repeated his words.

“Carol . . .” Josie wanted to tell her to be quiet. This conversation could only upset her.

“Josie did all that to look better for you,” Carol continued, ignoring Josie.

Sam looked from one woman to the other. “Josie knows she doesn’t have to do that. At least not for me. I love her the way she is.”

Josie felt tears welling up and bit her lips. This was the Sam Richardson she loved. This was the Sam Richardson she had been missing ever since Pamela Peel’s body appeared in his apartment. She smiled at him, but remained silent.

“But I can’t tell you how glad I am that you didn’t go to the same hairdresser as Mother did.” He winked at her and got down to the business of refilling their glasses.

Josie picked up hers and sipped, taking a moment to admire her nails before getting up and walking to the window. “You have a fabulous view,” she said, looking down at the southern tip of Manhattan.

“That was one of the reasons I bought this place,” Carol said, standing up and joining her. “Of course the view has changed a lot since I moved in, but I still love it.”

Josie took a deep breath and turned back to Sam. “Carol said that Pamela Peel decorated this place as well as yours.”

He looked around and agreed. “That’s true. I’ve always thought this place was much more successful than mine.”

No one in the room was going to disagree with that. “This place is beautiful,” Josie said sincerely. She turned to Carol. “What did you ask for?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, did you say that you wanted something formal or elegant or whatever . . . or did you leave all the decisions up to Henderson and Peel?”

“I left all the decisions up to Pamela. In this case, it was just Peel. I don’t remember seeing Shepard Henderson during the entire project. Too bad too,” Carol added a bit wistfully. “I’ve always thought he was something of a hunk.”

“Good-looking, yes, but a hunk . . . ,” Josie began and then realized that Sam didn’t—and shouldn’t—know that she and Shepard Henderson had met.

Carol seemed to realize the same thing at the same time. She got up quickly and hurried to the wall intercom to call down to the doorman and ask if their dinner had arrived. “Sammy, will you go down and pick it up now?” she asked. “It will take less time that way and Josie and I really are hungry.”

“Of course.” He jumped to his feet.

Neither Carol nor Josie said anything until the door slammed behind him. Then, “Do you think he realized what I just said?” Josie asked.

“I have no idea. We’ll just have to hope that he didn’t, or that if he did, he forgets it before he comes back up here. I thought everything was going so well. When you brought up Pamela’s work here, I was a bit doubtful, but it was perfect. Sam couldn’t possibly have known you were interested in anything other than my apartment.”

“But what am I going to say if he asks how I know what Shepard Henderson looks like? Oh, I’ve got it! I’ll just explain that I saw photographs of him in Sam’s albums.”

“Brilliant! But if he doesn’t ask, don’t mention Shep Henderson again.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t!” Josie paused before continuing. “How do you think Sam looks?”

“Tired and unhappy. He’d usually spend the evening teasing me about my new hairdo. And most of them haven’t been nearly as odd as this one!” Carol added, frowning.

“But he’ll be just fine once we discover who killed Pamela Peel,” Josie said, wishing it was the truth. It was possible that Sam was upset by Pamela’s death. “Don’t you think?” she added when Carol didn’t respond.

“I hope so. I certainly hope so.” Carol sighed and then seemed to gather herself together. “Where shall we eat? In here or the kitchen?”

“Whatever you think.”

“We’ll eat here. I’ll just go get placemats and plates. You clear off the coffee table, dear. And maybe get the candles off the mantel and put them in the middle. Perhaps they will cheer us up a bit.”

By the time Sam returned, a large bag full of sweet-smelling food in hand, there were three places set up around a trio of lit candles. Fresh (and in Sam’s case, full) glasses of wine sat by straw placemats and black enameled chopsticks, and fine linen napkins surrounded large white china plates. “Sit down and have more wine, Sammy. Josie and I will take the food out to the kitchen and put it on platters.”

“This is great, Mother, but why not make things easier and just pass around the cardboard containers?”

“That’s a good idea,” Josie said, realizing that Carol was looking very tired.

“If you really think so.”

“The Pad Thai, a double order, is on top,” Sam said, starting to remove a half dozen cartons from the bag and lay them all out. “Josie, the drawer to the left of the sink is full of silverware. Grab a bunch of big spoons, and maybe a bottle of water and some glasses. We’re going to be thirsty after eating all this.”

“I can—”

“Yes, you can, Mother, but so can Josie.”

“I can and I will,” Josie said, hurrying back to the kitchen and doing as Sam had asked. When she returned to the living room, spoons in hand, Carol was already digging into a carton of spring rolls.

“Hmm. Looks good.”

“Delicious,” Sam agreed. He spooned a pile of thin noodles and shrimp onto his plate then passed the carton on to his mother.

They all served themselves and began to eat with Sam pausing only to explain an unfamiliar ingredient or to warn the women about an unusually spicy dish. But after the first pangs of hunger had been assuaged, Sam spoke up. “I don’t remember,” he began slowly. “How did Pamela come to decorate this place, Mother?”

“Everyone I know was either hiring or trying to hire Henderson and Peel. How could I have considered anyone else?”

“But I don’t remember you having a decorator for your other apartments.”

“Well, maybe not a decorator as such, but there was this lovely man in the furniture department at Bloomingdale’s who was such a big help with the place I had before this. Back when you were living at home, I didn’t have enough money to spend on decorations, much less pay for a decorator.”

Josie stopped shoveling food into her mouth long enough to ask a question. “How does a decorator get paid?”

“Well, it depends,” Carol answered. “When I worked with a decorator employed by a store, they were paid by the store. I mean, I didn’t pay anything extra for their services.”

“But did they make a commission on what you bought or were they just paid a salary?” Josie asked.

“I have no idea.” Carol examined a huge shrimp before popping it in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I did sometimes feel that I was being steered toward the most expensive items though. And at Bloomingdale’s that can run to a whole lot of money.”

“Peel and Henderson worked on an hourly and cost-plus basis,” Sam spoke up. “And on some of their larger projects they insisted on a retainer up front.”

“How did all that work?” Josie asked. She wasn’t surprised at Sam’s knowledge. She had been asking him to check out Island Contracting’s contracts for the past few years.

“They had a flat hourly rate—about two hundred dollars per when I left the city, but I suspect it’s more now—for planning the job, travel to stores and galleries, time spent with the client, stuff like that. They also got wholesale prices on furniture, accessories, even artwork, and they added a standard markup before billing the client. They added twenty percent to the bills of subcontractors as well.” He looked up from his food and over at Josie. “Sound like a lot to you?”

Josie grinned. “It does.”

“But a decorator is a lot like a contractor,” Sam explained. “You get money up front when you start a job, right? Usually a third of the final payment.”

“Yes, but I need that money to pay for supplies. It sounds like the retainer is just to keep the decorator working on your project. And if I ever tried to charge an hourly fee for time spent traveling back and forth to the lumberyard, or meetings with clients, I’d be laughed right out of a job. It sounds to me like being a decorator is pretty cushy.”

Sam leaned back, lifted his arms over his head and stretched. “You might have trouble finding decorators to agree with you.”

“Why?”

“It’s a different type of work than you do,” Sam replied. “It depends more on the whim of the employer, for one thing.”

“What do you mean?” Carol asked.

Sam answered her question with a question. “How many times did you change your mind about fabric for the curtains in your bedroom?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe three or four . . . possibly more, I guess.” His mother frowned. “Did Pamela complain about me?”

“No, she just mentioned it. As I recall, she said you were better than most clients. She used to tell stories of clients who had entire bathrooms ripped out because they didn’t like the floor tiles. Or . . . I remember she told me about a woman who had two dozen pillows made up in different upholstery fabrics because she couldn’t decide which she wanted to use.”

“What did she do with the pillows in the fabric she rejected?” Carol asked.

“She gave them away to a thrift store and took a substantial tax deduction. I remember Pamela telling me that the woman wanted a receipt from Henderson and Peel so she could take a tax deduction. A receipt for twice the amount she had actually spent.”

“Did they give it to her?” Carol asked.

Sam shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably. Pamela knew that I didn’t want to hear about anything illegal. I have my law license to protect, after all.”

“I’ve had difficult clients who want to make changes,” Josie said.

“Yes, but your clients know what you’re going to do— pretty much—when you start a job, right? You have blueprints of the job. And they know they have a certain amount to spend on materials. And if they go over that amount when they pick out appliances or whatever, they have to pay extra, right?”

“Sure. What else?”

“What else is that clients frequently try to get decorators to get discounts for them. Pamela always said that a good decorator can save a client money, but more than a few of her clients wanted discounts that were unreasonable. And, in this city, a firm’s reputation is its future. High-profile clients can be pretty demanding and they do tend to get what they want. I always suspected that some of Henderson and Peel’s less prominent clients were charged a bit more to compensate for the lower fees charged to the rich and famous.”

“Really?” Carol looked around her apartment as though wondering for what, if anything, she had been overcharged.

“Island Contracting would never treat clients like that!”

“I seem to remember a family who got a great discount on the addition at the back of their bungalow just a few years ago.”

“I . . . oh, I remember. But that was different. The Giambrettis are some of the last fishermen on the island. They really couldn’t afford to build anything, but they were expecting triplets at the time. I just gave them a discount and took a loss on the project. I didn’t—I wouldn’t ever—add to a rich person’s bill to make up for it.”

“But you could give the Giambrettis a break because you had done a few big jobs for wealthy summer people in the same year,” Sam reminded her.

“I suppose.” Josie wasn’t at all willing to put herself and her company in the same corner as someone who would give a financial break to those who need it the least. “But my reputation, Island Contracting’s reputation, doesn’t depend on working for a few wealthy or prominent people.”

“Really? Weren’t you enthusiastic about remodeling the Point House because you thought the job was going to be covered in
Architectural Digest
? Don’t I remember you telling me that?”

Josie couldn’t do anything but admit the truth of that. Of course Hurricane Agatha had destroyed the Point House and probably Island Contracting’s only chance for fame.

“Things are different in the city, Josie dear. There are so many decorating firms, so much more competition than on the island. Henderson and Peel were always in danger of becoming one of the lesser firms and no longer being offered the best jobs.”

“And that would have killed Pamela if someone hadn’t already done it,” Sam said and then added, “but let’s stop talking about Pamela, or Henderson and Peel, or decorators, or murder. Let’s just enjoy the food and the company and the evening.”

Carol and Josie exchanged meaningful looks; so much for their well-laid plans!

EIGHTEEN

A MAZINGLY ENOUGH, THAT night turned out to be a lot like the nights Josie had imagined when Sam first suggested she accompany him to New York City. Slightly drunk and certainly more than well fed, they had left Carol’s apartment with their arms around each other and strolled slowly back to Sam’s place. The city had been enchanting: lights glowing in the crisp, cold air. Everyone seemed to be well dressed and everyone appeared to be hurrying off to have fun.

They walked down Park Avenue, peeking in windows. Restaurants—tables covered with glasses, silver, linen, and flowers—were full of people, leaning toward one another over plates of food, all talking at once.

They walked a block over to Madison Avenue and window-shopped, making jokes about the expensive, desirable, and not so desirable objects on display. They talked and laughed, relaxed as though they didn’t have a care in the world. When Sam suggested they stop in at a little café for a nightcap, Josie readily agreed, not wanting to pass up an opportunity to be part of the New York nightlife she had always heard so much about.